


Can a Person Be a Home?

by softcorevulcan



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Companionship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Jim Has Issues, Jim has emotional issues, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Slash, Relationship Discussions, Slash, Sleeping Together, Spock and Kirk are too dense to realize they're in love, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, declarations of love that aren't quite direct enough, literally just sleeping though, pining!Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softcorevulcan/pseuds/softcorevulcan
Summary: 'Spock is home, Jim realizes, wonders how tired he is to be thinking such things. It's not a metaphor, either, no, Jim doesn't think it is. He thinks Spock simply is the definition of home, for him. He hopes Spock always wants him.'Spock and Jim, weary from a trip down to a planet of violent mass brainwash, try to unwind and remember what it's even supposed to feel like to not be alone without compromising themselves. If that's even possible.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to use science fiction and romance to let out my stress about the world and love a little…

Jim was feeling pleasantly drunk. You know that point where everything is warm and fuzzy, and because there’s only good company around you everything feels content - that was where Jim was on the spectrum. His good company, this particular two in the morning, was Spock.

The air of Jim’s room felt cool against his skin, but he supposed that was more to do with his condition then the temperature. He let Spock’s light touch of fingers against his upper arms guide him to the bed and he sat, staring up at his first officer expectantly.

Spock remained standing, comfortably close, and the room was quiet. Spock said nothing, but Jim could tell there were words unspoken bubbling up inside. Maybe about the mission they’d just returned from. Just thinking about the last few hours made Jim’s head spin, made sharp pain spike up behind his temple and nope, he was not going to push the issue right now. If the memories hurt, best not to acknowledge them for the moment. Not necessary now that they were safe back on the Enterprise, now that exhaustion weighed heavy against Jim and made him so deliciously relaxed after the train wreck that had happened down below.

It had worn Jim down more than he had expected it to. Spock finally opened his mouth to speak. The curve of his lips was always so subtle and gentle and Jim loved staring at them, felt himself staring at them now. “The reports need not be filed immediately, I suggest you rest and we complete the remaining work once your condition is improved.”

Jim’s eyes had wandered from lips to big dark brown eyes without him realizing, as usual. They were gazing into each other so intently, Jim thinks it might have hurt if this were a different time. But they were friends now, and what could be a gaping maw of destruction to someone else was an endless expanse of strength to Jim. There was no other pair of eyes he’d rather stare into until time becomes lost.

Eventually, Jim laughs, not to break tension - because there is no tension there between them, with them. Not right now, and it’s amazing. It’s like a blanket envelopes them and wraps around them and there’s nothing in this whole wide universe but them in this room with lights dimmed to 50%, warm brown eyes making Jim feel as if this is what home is supposed to be. “Sure is great to be a person again.”

Spock waits a moment, maybe just to assure himself Jim does seem to be in his right mind again. Then gives a small nod of agreement. “...It was disorienting on Trius V. There was no room for individuality, it was unlikely we would escape. We were fortunate I have achieved an exceptional level of shielding compared to what it was at the onset of our voyage.”

Jim nods back, absentminded, a dull ache reappearing in his head as he vaguely recalls the planet Trius. The whole population had been a swarm. Spock had said… he had said that all the people had individual thoughts, but they were being drowned out and smothered into oblivion by some omnipresent device of the local government. Jim had been nearly as vulnerable as the native population, and had immediately been struck by the violence of all his rebellious tendencies and independent thought being intimately violated and choked. Then Jim had struggled in agony on the planet even as the device seemed to automatically steer his body toward some nationalistic detainment facility. Spock had been right beside him the whole way, fighting markedly less - the submission of Spock had actually motivated Jim to struggle harder, though it had changed nothing. Thankfully, the device’s mind control did not increase in strength when they reached the holding facility. However, the facility did seem to ominously contain the noises of machinery slicing material that sounded distinctly organic, and there were few cells. It had been sort of like… an assembly line. For death, maybe.

.

Spock had used his telepathic touch to secure the lock codes for the cell door, grazing the guard’s wrists as they were guided like willing cattle into the room. Jim had been physically compelled to just stand in the middle of the room, even as his mind screamed “Danger! Bad! Fight! No!” and the pain kept spiking and threatening to force him into collapse. But Spock had snapped out of the mental containment like the bonds had been air - crisply walking forward to the cell door panel like he needed not exert maximum mental effort to do so. Unlike Jim. Jim had tried so hard to move - to help Spock with the door, or to try and check the walls for some area of weakness to break through. But all he could do was stand there, in the dead center of the room, passive, as his thoughts of escape were battered and his ideas about how fucked this all was were repeatedly molested until he could hardly think at all.

He couldn’t even think about the pain, or how every poor person on this planet, or at least in this city, was feeling it too probably. He could tell exactly what was causing the pain - it wasn’t his resistance, no, his body functions seemed to be controlled in a detached absolute manner, like program commands with no choice on the matter. It was his feelings and conscious thoughts that kept debilitating him with agony. When they first beamed down, they hadn’t noticed the new alien presence in their minds at all. They’d wandered around, said hello even, and curiously observed the commerce in the marketplace. Everything had seemed quite regular, for a colony. People shopping, people working, people talking, just going about their day.

Then someone had noticed one of the ensigns they brought with them, Talia Rodriguez, and Spock recognized the danger before the rest of the beam down party. A law enforcement person had walked over calmly, and proceeded to stab Talia in the chest like it was the most normal everyday thing in the world. Right as Talia began to collapse, the guard had turned to Spock - who had been reacting with shock and immediacy to try and aid her - and the guard then moved to stab him as well. Jim had immediately ordered the remaining beam down party to grab Talia and beam the fuck back up to the Enterprise and get her to Bones. Spock defended himself against the guard, distracting the crowd enough for the other crewmembers to get away from the populace, and once Jim saw them dematerialize in a transporter beam over in an adjoining alley, he rushed over to try and disarm the guy making moves at Spock.

After that, everything went even farther to shit. An intercom in the market boomed across the open space that “Federation representatives from Starfleet will be arriving momentarily. Please welcome them graciously to our great Trius V City of Faith.” Apparently, whoever was in charge of welcoming committees had only now received Uhura’s transmission, or at least had only just gotten around to doing something about it. It was right after the announcement that Jim had disarmed the guard, and had been about to punch him across the jaw when his hand froze mid air. Then promptly and slowly swung back until his arm was resting against his side with his hand open and loose. Jim had been baffled, and surging with rage. Then the pain started, first surging at his intent of violence, then burning at his outrage his ensign had been attacked, then pounding down like a hammer at his protective urge toward Spock. Jim stood leisurely, as on the inside his mind writhed and his thoughts struggled to remain in existence against the onslaught of fuzzy indifference that was pressing down on him like the weight of a thousand starships.

Spock, likewise, had suddenly unbent from his defensive position, in a slow deliberate pace, into a standing position of open surrender. Then, for reasons Jim couldn’t begin to fathom or fight, they began walking calmly and obediently behind the guard and toward the detention facility.

Getting out had been entirely accomplished due to Spock being basically, a miracle worker. The guy had opened the cell door while Jim stood uselessly and completely unable to move, then Spock had made a - rather horrifying to Jim - sudden decision to run off. It had been an agonizing eighteen minutes alone standing in the middle of the cell unable to do anything or think clearly. Guards had even come to check on him and noticed Spock was gone, but even as Jim tried to panic more pain seemed to be quashing any concern he was supposed to have for his first officer and friend.

There had been this pervading restriction all around his insides, this dull thought that ‘all was normal, all was appropriate.’ There was this suffocating suppression of everything that was James T. Kirk, overlaying him, making him this standard model puppet that apparently the whole populace must have been. The standard model, apparently, liked homogeneity and liked doing what they were ordered and asked, and accepted that all others simply must die. A piece of the weight on him seemed to think Spock and Talia were part of this ‘other’. But pain kept spiking whenever Jim tried to productively analyse that belief, because every time he noticed it his protective urges regarding his entire fantastic crew surged up and were met with intense punishment in the form of suffocating hurt. Which really, baffled Jim, because he’d thought the mind control pain shit was maybe set off by violent urges - and that Spock had escaped it by virtue of being an emotionally repressed prick. But even his protective urges, loving urges, were being swiftly brutalized. The entire eighteen minutes had been agonizing not only because of the pain, but because Jim felt so damn useless to help or do anything at all.

Toward the end of the eighteen minutes, the lights had surged and then blew out, along with the force field on the cell doors. Spock had run back, and Jim had felt incredible joy through the pain washing over and over him at the sight of his first officer. Then Spock had flipped open his communicator, put the most comforting hand in the universe on Jim’s shoulder, and signaled for the Enterprise to bring them up.

Immediately Jim had collapsed, outside the range of whatever fucking mind thing was imposing itself on everyone on Trius. Spock had actually tensed, like his body wanted to do the same, before he’d recovered and helped Bones get Jim to the sickbay. Talia was there, leaning against a pile of pillows, surrounded from girls from communications, getting a hand massage and a round of relieved words from everyone. She seemed to be okay, stab wound decidedly nonfatal if she was so lively and relaxed. Jim was immeasurably relieved.

“The rest - are they okay?” Jim had rasped out, as Bones had maneuvered him onto a bed and run a tricorder over him, Spock almost uselessly attempting to help by lifting Jim’s leg and putting it beside his other one so they were both equally on the bed. Soon enough Bones had cleared him, giving him some painkiller for a residual migraine. Spock in the meanwhile had contacted Starfleet Headquarters and informed them the colony was rogue, and in obvious violation of various rights, suggesting well informed actions that should be taken by Starfleet, and warning them that the Trius V colony has some sort of mind control Faith city wide - possibly planet wide - presence that even ESP capable species are susceptible to. The rest of the crew that had beamed down with them, were in fact, okay. Although Lieutenant Watanabe and Yeoman Powell had received a few bruises and shallow cuts from the crowd as they’d moved Talia to the alley to beam up.

.

Spock had been kind enough to escort Jim to his quarters after Starfleet was made aware of the bullshit down below.

.

And now here they were. And Jim was spent and exhausted and he would have simply passed out but the idea of sleeping right now - losing his consciousness again so soon - was so terrifying that he was sure some kind of adrenaline spike was keeping him mildly alert and pushing him to keep talking and engaging the only company in the room. Spock.

Jim has almost forgotten what they were talking about. The pain lessens again now that his mind is back in the present. He’s still staring up into Spock’s warm gaze. Even if the rest of him is officially expressionless, Jim has gotten used to a lot of Spock’s little emotional giveaways. The easiest one for him to interpret is still Spock’s eyes. When he first met Spock, he could see the arrogance and disdain glancing his way. When he pissed Spock off on the Enterprise’s maiden voyage, and the guy eventually resorted to strangulation, Jim could see every speck of incredulity, outrage, shock, hurt, pain, satisfaction, weariness. No one could have confirmed it, and Jim might not even have been aware of what he was really seeing without that eventual mind meld with an older more expressional Spock who probably unintentionally imparted some wisdom into Jim regarding the interpretation of his younger Spock’s moods. Nevertheless, now Jim could confirm with confidence that his Spock was looking at him with relief and fondness and a certain equal weariness regarding his own as a result of their trip to Trius V. Nightmare city. ‘City of Faith’ they’d called it. Jim wondered what it was they had faith in. Thinking that didn’t hurt, at least, although the actual memories of the place still did.

“Spock,” Jim begins, breaking another one of their comfortable silences. “Were they in your head too?”

Spock is hesitant, for some reason, then blinks and Jim knows they were. “I was… lost within the tumult for a time. Not as long as you, however.” _Obviously_ , he doesn’t tack on. Spock is trying to be gentle with Jim, he’s not being a snarky jerk or even trying to make Jim laugh - which Spock actually purposely attempts more than he’d probably ever admit too. “The sheer number of minds was. Overwhelming.”

Jim leans back on the bed, thoughts wandering, and Jim realizes the pain now isn’t a remnant of the mind control machine but because he’s scared he’ll somehow fall back into that ocean of minds all thinking at once. “I felt like I was… everyone there. In that city, or that planet. Like I had to fight just to remember who I was.” A pause. “I did have to fight, and it hurt every second of it.”

Spock slouches the tiniest bit, which for him is quite the gesture. “It was… different in my experience.” Spock looked like he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to continue the discussion. A memory in Jim’s brain sprung up, of Bones sitting beside Spock, telling him that it’s healthy to feel things, that sometimes you have to acknowledge them to move forward. Spock, of course, had scoffed in a way that Jim was familiar with, and resolutely buried whatever painful emotions or circumstances that were verging on compromising him instead of taking his doctor’s advice. Jim wondered if Spock ever, at least, took that advice when it came to all the hurt he’d felt over Vulcan and what happened. He hoped Spock had. But Jim had not, had not talked to a damn soul about how fucked it had all been, or how he illogically blamed himself for not being able to stop Nero sooner and save all those people, save Spock’s people, keep Spock from hurting, keep a whole planet from disappearing, a whole people who remained from suffering an agony humans couldn’t even know, an agony beyond just feeling and all the way into mental emptiness, a gaping hole humans couldn’t know because they didn’t have the mental presence of all those other lives to begin with. Jim hadn’t even talked to Bones about how he felt regarding those things. And if he couldn’t, Spock maybe could not bear to talk about it a million times more.

Spock lets out the barest push of air - the Vulcan equivalent of a sigh, or one of many recent signs that he’s tired too, just like Jim, worn past thin by the day’s events. “The sensation of being connected to so many individuals. It was difficult to separate myself… not because of skill. I… haven’t felt so many minds at once since before Nero.” Spock says the last word like a whisper, barely any noise pushing it out. It’s hard for him to say this. More then that.

“It’s been lonely,” Jim says simply, saying the words Spock can’t. Spock doesn’t have to acknowledge the words for Jim to know they’re the truth, that Spock is in some way relieved his pain is voiced. That he didn’t have to compromise himself to have it admitted. In this private dim space where it’s just him and Jim, and there is no judgement anymore, they’ve been past that with each other for a while. Now there is only acceptance, comfort, they are safe here.

“Since I have separated from Lieutenant Uhura it has become even more so. The two of us never melded, but she was a welcome presence on the occasions we touched.” Spock is still speaking in small pushes. Maybe so his voice doesn’t contain emotion, maybe so he can keep holding himself together. He must feel even lonelier now, now that he’s gotten a taste of what he once had just to have it ripped away by his own purposeful mental shields. Time heals all wounds, that’s a saying Jim has heard too much in his life. A saying Jim is never sure he finds comforting or disturbing in it’s use. But surely, regardless of it’s truth, reminders of memories tend to rip old wounds raw.

Jim pushes himself back up, off the bed, feeling suddenly like he needs to do something. Anything, for Spock. He couldn’t do anything on the planet. He’s not helpless right now, he can do something. He fiddles his hands for a moment trying to figure out what, then just settles on putting his hands on Spock's’ upper arms and rubbing circles. ‘ _I’m here_ ,’ he’s trying to say. ‘ _You don’t ever have to be lonely_ ,’ Jim thinks. He’s staring into those brown eyes less than a foot away, just trying to communicate without words how utterly much he never wants Spock to feel alone, ever.

“You have me,” Jim says, a little louder then Spock’s barely there words. He’s trying to have gravity, but he’s still so quiet too, in this room, close to Spock, too scared to say it too loud and frighted Spock away and make him feel even more isolated. He squeezes the arms between his hands, “You’ll always have me.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, but he releases the tension he had when Jim first touched him. “Always, Jim?” before Spock can protest that Jim’s just said something so impossible to really determine, Jim laughs.

It’s just. Him and Spock. Maybe Spock would be right - always sure is a lot. But Jim wouldn’t dream of giving his guy up. Not now, not now that he knows him and gets the privilege of getting to know him more and more for the rest of their lives. The idea, that at the end of the five year mission… who knows what Spock will want to do. Bones told Jim, indirectly, that the half-Vulcan had considered going off to help his own planet less people a few times. And no one could blame him. Even if Jim needs him, Spock has to do whatever he feels is right. Jim would never begrudge him for that, not anymore. Not now that they’ve grown, now that he knows better. Jim would probably follow him to Vulcan, somehow, maybe join a starship charged with the duty to patrol space near the colony Spock might run off to. Maybe. Jim isn’t sure. It’s not worth worrying about the future when they’re still living day to day, unsure if they’ll even survive this wild ride they’ve been on ever since they met.

He’s still laughing, finally catching his breath again, and Spock is waiting for him. “Well, anyway, I’ll always be here as long as you want me to be Spock,” Jim says seriously, warm tired eyes regarding him. Spock looks very much like his older counterpart, in this moment. Jim giggles a little again, because it’s so soft and safe in this room, Spock in his arms, and he’s being mushy but he’s past his quota of tolerating restraint today, and he can feel that every molecule of his body means every word he’s saying. “Even if. Even if you don’t want me around anymore,” Jim rattles off, “I’ll be here if you ever want me to be again.” Another chuckle. “Even if you try to choke me again or something! I mean, I’ll definitely be scolding you proportionally for it if it’s your bright idea and not some weird space stuff compromising you. But. I’ll still be yours. Always.”

Spock’s a half-Vulcan, so supposedly he can’t cry. But Jim unfortunately knows better than that. Knows Spock’s eyes look extra shiny right now cause he’s a little emotionally affected right now. So Jim just rubs his hands up and down Spock’s arms. There’s quiet in the cabin again, and Jim feels Spock lean into his touch just the tiniest bit.

For Spock’s sake, emotionally stunted guy that he is, Jim gets the bright idea to switch topics and start babbling. Because he’s not going to make Spock confront his feelings for too long in this silence. “Ya know... ” Jim’s hands have settled, but he’s still rubbing circles into Spock’s arms because he can’t bare to be motionless completely, not so soon after Trius. He’s looking down at Spock’s chest now, both to relieve himself of that piercing look that seems to make him feel like the safest and most vulnerable person in existence all at once, and to give Spock a chance to betray some emotions physically without any witnesses. “I get with a lot people. Or, used to. But not really. I was never really with most of them. Not like… not like this, or, you know. It was always physical, usually. Not really any connection. And if there was, it never lasted. They’d always... “ Jim suddenly wishes he were sitting down again, the world feels heavy, even though they’re in space on the Enterprise and not on a world at all in this moment. “We’d lose contact, you know?” He doesn’t expect Spock to answer. Spock doesn’t.

“Not that I didn’t try, sometimes. Sometimes I’d actually try really hard to keep in touch. Then eventually… I just decided, if they really wanted me, I shouldn’t have to.” Jim feels Spock’s eyes on him, heavy, and Jim can’t really bare to glance up from the blue science shirt. He drifts his hands down until they’re resting just above Spock’s palms, stroking gently and absentmindedly at the wrists in his grasp, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “I mean. Not to contradict what I said to you. Just that, if someone’s not even a friend, what’s the point in trying to get to know them when they really don’t want to get me.”

Jim can feel Spock’s body move just slightly, realizes Spock nodded. Jim suddenly feels like it’s too much effort to stand, and slides back down onto the bed and sits. His grip on Spock is light, and he knows the man could pull out of it with minimal effort if he wanted to, so he knows Spock is allowing himself to get pulled down with Jim as Spock settles down to sit beside Jim, wrists still warm against Jim’s hands.

Jim pulls his legs up, sits cross legged, shifts so he’s facing Spock, and meets his eyes. His first officer looks stoic as ever, but it’s a soft sort of non-expression. Spock’s eyes aren’t wet anymore, and Jim is glad. He can’t stop himself from spewing out words. There’s some part of him that thinks maybe he needs to, needs to let out all this stuff, that Bones is right and he’s just as emotionally stunted as his half-Vulcan. That if he doesn’t say whatever seems to be bubbling up right now, he never will, he might never be in this warm cozy cocoon of a place with Spock again. There’s no sure way to know they’ll even survive long enough for another opportunity, the world is always too uncertain. The only constant in the universe seems to be that which Jim has decided, that he’s going to be there for Spock, by his side, at times whether he likes it or not, if he can do absolutely anything to help it.

Sometimes Jim thinks if they had known each other when they were kids, maybe they would have had considerably better childhoods. Lives. Or maybe, they would have killed each other. They both probably had that kind of volatile temperament and risk factor at some point. They kind of, almost, still do. They only just grew past that, kind of. Either way they would have been together as long as was possible given who they are.

“So now… I’ve got this…” Jim’s voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t just been talking his mouth off, maybe he could use some water. He clears his throat but it doesn’t help much, so he speaks lighter and hopes he sounds carefree like summer breeze. He almost manages it. “Now it’s like, I’ve decided if I like someone, if someone’s worth it, I should make myself go slow. No rushing to the finish line bullshit. If I take my time, and they still want to get to know me, still want me, then it’ll be worth it. If not… oh well. I’d rather be lonely then be with someone who’s going to leave. Who doesn’t really care.”

“I care, Jim.” Jim barely hears it because he’s babbling, but not because Spock is quiet. Because Spock’s words are sure and solid and bright in the dim room. And Jim is suddenly overwhelmed about the fact Spock hasn’t called him ‘Captain’ once since they started this conversation.

It’s not just about Spock. It’s about Jim. He’s got so many issues with that kind of declaration. Disbelief hardwired into him after so many people lied to his face, hope that’s so big it hurts, this overwhelming warmth because Spock is everything right and annoying with the universe and of course Spock would say something like this. Of course.

At this point the faintest movement of Spock feather gently slipping one hand out of Jim’s hardly-there-anymore grasp and those fingers ghosting over his jaw just long enough to compel him to look up at Spock, before they drift back down to rest on Jim’s shoulder. “You need rest.”

Jim huffs out another little laugh, because the sudden thought that this whole conversation is a dream crosses his mind and it’s hilarious. Mostly because it could very easily be one of Jim’s dreams. But Spock doesn’t scold him or fret that Jim has lost his marbles at the sudden outburst, just uses the hand on Jim’s shoulder to push Jim’s very willing and compliant body into a laying position.

Jim melts into the bed, immediately relishing in the renewed feeling of weightlessness and content now that he’s down for the count. He’s back to looking up at Spock, fluttering his eyelashes half unintentionally and half because he’s genuinely got endless reserves of affection right now for Spock being such a damn sweetheart. Taking care of Jim, listening to that mess that is Jim’s personal life, and Jim almost forgets that he was only admitting personal worries just because he’d charitably wanted to spare Spock from feeling like he had to reveal his own.

Spock, as usual, allows his captain to indulge in bathing him in warm fuzzy looks, and pulls the blanket out from under Jim efficiently but gently, and drapes it over Jim as he moves to get off the bed.

“Wait,” Jim mumbles, drowsily grabbing onto one of Spock’s arms. He’s a little firmer then he’s been all night, because he kind of wants Spock to do what he says right now and not slip away, but he’s still holding on light enough that a half-Vulcan could pull away without anywhere near excessive effort. Spock does stop, freezing on his knees, half leaning over Jim, one of Spock’s hands still on the bed keeping his first officer from toppling in some direction.

“Do you think…” Jim cuts himself off, re-thinks his request. “You could stay here tonight. If you don’t feel like being alone yet.” Jim berates himself in his own mind for sounding so damn mushy and transparent and sincere and pathetic. “I mean, this mission really…” Jim is so pissed he can’t word anything properly after the mindfuck of a mission. “I’d like it if you stayed. You need the rest too, don’t think I didn’t notice how tired you are too, Spock.”

As if his badly worded argument has any chance of success. Jim throws in a pleading look, trying to will Spock to just, to just do this one thing for him. He could use a warm body beside him tonight. He feels the emptiness of a million minds shoved in his head and then ripped back out just as much as Spock does tonight. And besides, Spock is really truly wiped out, Jim knows he’s going to need to sleep tonight, not just meditate or whatever. And all this ranting about failed relationships and empty hookups is really making Jim just want to cuddle with someone who he knows isn’t going to disappear tomorrow. At least, Spock wouldn’t disappear _without_ him. That’s already better than anyone Jim’s ever slept with. Well, that’s all Jim wants to do, sleep. And Spock can do that. And sleeping with company is a whole lot more fulfilling then sex with someone who’s going to remind Jim how bitter abandonment is the second he lets his guard down. “I feel like having company right now. If you want to.”

Spock has been frozen, and finally loosens up and moves himself until he’s sitting next to Jim again, blanket haphazardly forgotten half over Jim’s legs. He’s regarding Jim. Jim backtracks. “I mean. Only if you want to. You’re not obligated or anything of course. And I’m definitely well enough to be left alone, so don’t worry -” Spock shows the tiniest sign that he’s irked that Jim dared to suggest he could be ‘worried’. “ - I mean - just, if you feel like having some company, you don’t have to leave, if you don’t want.”

Jim’s suddenly overcome with unexpected waves of internal panic, does he sound needy? What must Spock think of all this? Spock better not be like an irrational human right now and connect these unrelated conversations. Because Jim is not expecting Spock to do anything or not do anything that anyone he’s ever slept with - had sex with - has done. In fact, Spock is totally different. Jim’s mind is too over used today for this kind of crisis, he’s too groggy, he knows a lost cause when he sees one. Yes, there’s no such thing as a no win situation… but Jim thinks in this particular case, if it’s winnable or losable is really Spock’s responsibility for the moment. Better to let go of silly worried thoughts. There’s still too many remnants of migraine Jim doesn’t want to prod. He lets out a breath, lets go of Spock’s hand. “Have a good night, Spock.”

Spock’s lips tick up just the slightest bit, he likes to do that when Jim says human platitudes of kindness toward him, usually before ripping into Jim in a way that’s probably supposed to be gentle teasing but comes off quite aggravating sometimes. Instead of getting up though, or ripping into him over saying ‘good’ anything, Spock settles down next to him and sprawls out his legs. “Company is welcome, if you do not mind.”

Jim just beams at him, uncontrollably, eyes probably painting little invisible hearts into Spock’s skin. Spock leans over and pulls the covers over them, rolls on his side so he’s facing Jim, and in what seems like calculated steps, lets his body relax piece by piece until he’s a picture of softness. Well, maybe, Jim has partial rose colored vision where Spock is concerned, when the guy bothers to be nice to him.

Jim wonders if Spock doubts that Jim will always be there for him, the way Jim doubts how much Spock means when he says ‘ _I care, Jim_ ’. Spock lets one of his arms drift to rest across Jim’s side, hand against Jim’s back, and Jim melts even more into the perfection that is this moment. They’re still looking at each other, and Jim is past gratefulness that Spock is being so comforting after this trainwreck of a mission, he really does appreciate all the touches that just cement the fact Jim is really himself again and he’s not part of some heartless cruel machine hive mind. Jim is still beaming at him, and impulsively scoots closer to Spock and further into the embrace, curling his hands up against Spock and his shirt and arms, and keeps looking into those perfect brown eyes from the comfortable distance of a few tiny inches. Its warm now, so close, mentally, physically, in every way a place and time and event can feel like home. Spock is home, Jim realizes, wonders how tired he is to be thinking such things. It’s not a metaphor either, no, Jim doesn’t think it is. He thinks Spock simply is the definition of home, for him. He hopes Spock always wants him.

“If it will not make you uncomfortable, I would like to increase the room temperature.”

“Sure, Spock,” and before Spock can drag this out with platitudes of ‘do you mind’ ‘no do you mind’ like Jim just did, he adds with a dazzling smile, “I’ve got a sheet if it gets too warm for the blanket.”

Spock is satisfied with this response, and promptly commands the temperature increase to the computer before settling again, not making the slightest fuss when Jim takes the hand of Spock’s that’s wedged between them into his own hands against Spock’s chest. His first officer still has an arm slung over Jim’s side and it’s the most wonderful thing Jim can remember feeling in a long time.

Eventually, Jim settles down and the wattage on his smile wanes as he settles into the pillow gazing at Spock fondly, and Spock flutters his eyes closed and both of their breaths come out slower and quieter and Jim mutters the command to turn the lights all the way off, pleased that Spock is undisturbed by the momentary noise of his voice so close to Spock.

Jim finally feels like he could really sleep. Just be totally dead to the world for like a week. Nothing like being home, warm and safe, on the Enterprise, in Spock’s arms and Spock in his.

He finds he can’t look away from the gentle curve of Spock’s eyelashes against his cheeks and the soft movement of his lips as he breathes in and out. Jim doesn’t think he’s ever seen Spock sleeping before, in a circumstance where Spock wasn’t horribly injured and Jim wasn’t frantically urging Bones, and M’Benga, and sometimes Chapel, to make sure no matter what Spock stay alive. It’s a much nicer sight now, here, where Spock is not injured in any lasting way, in his arms in private.

Spock suddenly flashes his eyes open, and Jim’s only maybe two inches away and feels very caught.

Spock raises up one eyebrow in a swift exaggerated motion and its as bad as anything that could possibly come out of Spock’s mouth in the way of scolding. Jim winces momentarily. “Hey.”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“...” Jim considers what a travesty it is that he can’t suddenly become invisible and hug onto Spock like a squid and just wait for the guy to give up and go to sleep properly. Maybe one day Jim will become an invisible squid… equally strange things have happened on their voyage so far. Weird thought. “... I’ve never seen you sleep before.”

Spock’s eyebrow is now genuinely touching up to his bangs, he’s not purposely exaggerating it, he’s simply that shocked by Jim’s human whims. Spock lets Jim get a nice long chance to take in how utterly baffling Spock thinks he is, then his face goes back into a relaxed nonchalance and he says, “You need rest.”

Jim considers making some comment back, but finds that once he’s faced again with Spock’s soft expression and closed eyes he feels quite pacified. Jim shuffles impossibly closer into Spock’s body, pleased beyond explanation that Spock lets him and adjusts his arm accordingly so it’s still tight and secure around Jim’s side, Spock’s hand still along Jim’s back shifting every so often in small amounts.

Jim closes his eyes and buries his face near Spock’s chest and neck then, absentmindedly deciding to try and commit the sensations of this moment to memory before he drifts totally off. Spock smells nice. His breathing is like a lullaby. The heartbeat going in rhythm against Jim’s lower stomach is strange and alien and inexplicably makes the case of Spock being home even more absolute in Jim’s mind.

.

Hours later, Jim stretches his legs absentmindedly, ordering the lights to 30%. Spock is curled up in the cutest kind of crescent - not little by any means, the man always takes up at least as much space as Jim if not more. But still, something about the pose reminds Jim of a black cat. Maybe it’s the pointed ears and black hair. Spock’s head is half pushed into Jim’s chest and it makes his stomach flutter the same way seeing a new planet always does. One of Spock’s ears is holding up the blanket that’s been pulled up close to his head. His arms aren’t around Jim anymore, but one of them is cradled against Jim’s yellow shirted chest and the other is settled between Jim’s arm and side like it slipped as Spock curled inward during the night.

Jim’s utterly conflicted. Now that he sees what he got to wake up to, he kind of wants to just keep laying here. Not that he needs to get up… and his eyes still sting and his mind still throbs and no medical professional would deny he could probably use a bit more restoration before he’s in optimal condition to push them off to the next mission - an expedition to an uninhabited planet for a scientific survey, Jim thinks that’s what it was. Yeah, a mission like that could be put off a few hours… and Spock already did the most critical part of the report, telling Starfleet what happened and what actions should probably be taken. All that’s really left is filing away the more mundane document form of events for starfleet records, and Jim can do that on the way to the next destination. If Spock is as good a first officer as Jim knows he is, Spock probably also told the bridge staff on duty to start the course to their new planet. So, really, it’s not like Jim has anything outstandingly critical to do at the moment. Petting Spock’s back isn’t exactly going to cause a calamity. So Jim does so.

Of course, Jim might do it even if it would cause a disaster - as long as, you know, it wasn’t a disaster for Spock. No more disasters forever, for Spock. Jim hopes so. Will try his best to make sure. No guarantees, considering their line of work, but Jim’s going to at least hopefully be by his side if any more bad times crop up. For both of their sakes.  
And wow is it therapeutic to run his fingers along Spock’s back, and side, and arms, and neck, and soon enough he’s got a hand hovering over Spock’s ear and ghosting his fingertips over the edges.

Spock twitches, actually twitches, awake, dark eyes flashing wide and body actually jerking half a foot backwards and hands tightened and arms tensed. His eyes are dewey with sleep and he looks utterly bewildered, staring dumbly at Jim for a full four seconds. Finally, they seem to focus on the reality, or maybe comprehend the reality, maybe because Jim figures four seconds is long enough for Jim to reach back over and stroke the half-Vulcan’s ear again. Spock twitches again, and it’s adorable even though Jim’s sure Spock would never agree with that conclusion. “Do not do that.”

Jim pouts a little, instinctively, and lowers his hand back to Spock’s shoulder and rubs his hand back and forth a lot more firmly and less in a tickly-way. Which, fair, maybe he’d just tickled Spock awake, that would be a startling way for anyone to wake up. “Sorry I woke you.”

Spock lets his eyes get to a less cartoonish size, blinking enough times that Jim thinks the guy is seriously considering going back to sleep. Spock lets himself give Jim one long hard look, keeping his eyes open long enough to let Jim know implicitly he is not allowed to tickle him again. Then he shuffles back into Jim’s arms and chest and buries his face completely in command yellow. Jim’s a little amused, and not as shocked as he thinks he should be, and goes back to stroking Spock’s back with one hand, the other sliding into Spock’s hair and massaging, secretly delighting in the idea he might get to see what Spock looks like with disheveled hair. His first officer had disappointingly woken up with quite orderly locks, maybe a tad out of place, but Jim felt an incredible urge to just see it sticking up in every possible direction. It’s not like he was likely to get many chances to see Spock in such a state, after all, it’s practical to seize the moment.

Spock actually lets him, seems to be enjoying the whole ordeal, which, well, good. Jim’s very happy with the arrangement, and it makes him impossibly happier being sure Spock’s pleased with it too. They stay like that a few moments, and Spock lets go long enough for Jim to lean over his bedside and make sure there’s no outstanding messages for him from anybody. Everything’s slow and warm again and it’s like last night except Spock isn’t made of cracked stone anymore and Jim doesn’t feel drunk anymore from mind control residue so he’s really enjoying the undeniable realness of the whole thing. No fuzziness, no drowsiness, he could go back to sleep but he doesn’t have to, he’s aware, and Spock’s in his arms again, and he can feel every individual breath and every beat of strange Vulcan heart against his abdomen and feel every miniscule sigh of content Spock lets out as he plays with the brown black hair under his fingers.

But he gets too cocky, and does that light stroke circular movement that’s just shy of tickling, and does it on Spock’s neck, and his first officer stiffens under him and twitches further into his chest, hands tightening on Jim’s body in warning. “Sorry,” Jim whispers.

But then Jim does it again. On Spock’s lower back where the shirts have ridden up, and on Spock’s neck again near the hairline. Apparently sleepy Spocks only have so much more tolerance than normal Spocks, because the guy abruptly rolls backward again and gives Jim a miserable look of disappointment in him.

“You’re just. So,” Jim doesn’t know what he’s saying but he knows whatever it is won’t go over well with Spock. His instincts are usually better than this. “I promise I’ll let you sleep if you want to a bit longer. I’ll stop messing with you.” Spock does not, apparently, believe him. Or tired Spocks just possess more tolerance and more suspicion once pushed then normal Spocks. “I’m just distracted cause.” Jim is not going to bury himself in a hole, nope. “Here.”

Jim leans forward and it’s easy to get Spock back within his personal space, but unexpectedly harder to get Spock to let go of him with those Vulcan strength possessing fingers. Once he finally pries them off him, he pushes Spock until he’s rolled in the opposite direction, facing away from Jim.

Jim doesn’t have to see Spock’s face, doesn’t need Spock’s body to move at all, to know his first officer is rather confused at this point. Jim scooches up behind him and wraps his arm around Spock, hand resting over that perfectly strange heartbeat and snuggling into Spock’s back, head near that now moderately messy head of hair - but still not as messy as Jim had wanted.

“Now I can’t touch where you’re ticklish.”

“You could have avoided your actions to begin with…” It actually sounds tired, and Jim is delighted. Then, a belated. “I am not ticklish.”

Jim spares Spock the embarrassment of being called out in a legitimate lie, and enjoys the fact Spock is settling back into Jim again and therefore obviously content with the new position.

“...Nyota and I used to do this…” Spock murmurs out, voice still broken into sleepy tones and sounding far away like he might not even be speaking this if he were fully functional. Jim lets Spock get away with this personal little admission too, Spock doesn’t need to be teased for finally opening up to someone. “Spooning.” Spock says a bit more coherently. “...I was always the ‘big’ spoon.”

Jim chuckles behind Spock’s ear, probably unintentionally tickling it one last time with his breath. “Yeah? So what’s your verdict on the flip side?”

One of Spock’s hands drift to rest on the forearm Jim has draped over Spock, slow and languid, and lets one of his cold toes prod against Jim’s. “I find it quite satisfying.”

Jim is glad.


End file.
